


love is a 4 letter word

by moeyandchandon (lokalelyen)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Bittersweet Ending, Canon - Book, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Dialogue, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Pining, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Pre-Canon, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 07:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21132992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokalelyen/pseuds/moeyandchandon
Summary: For just how much he slagged off the angel’s prim little accent, the way Aziraphale pronounced certain words never failed to make him all the more endearing. 'I’ve missed you too, Crowley.' He’d sounded so blessedly fond when he said his name. Crow-ley. C-R-O-W-L-E-Y. /ˈkroʊli/. He could listen to Aziraphale saying it forever.While away on business, Crowley gives Aziraphale a call.





	love is a 4 letter word

Sure, he and Aziraphale had kept in touch over the numerous years of their Arrangement. Ever since the days of clay tablets and messenger pigeons, they’d been exchanging correspondences from across continents whenever their work drove them apart. They found that it rather paid to keep up-to-date about which bugger had overthrown whom, how many cows it cost for a whole yard of linen, that sort of thing. Though, if they were entirely honest, they mostly exchanged messages to keep in touch for more mundane and personal reasons - Aziraphale would always wax poetic about new stories he'd heard and new delicacies he'd sampled, and Crowley had kept each and every letter he received close to his heart. Aziraphale had always seemed to enjoy getting letters from him before, and there was no conceivable reason that this time, in the age of telephones and electronic mail, that it would be any different, surely.

And yet as he held the plastic receiver in his hands, Crowley felt second thoughts creep up from the back of his mind. In quick succession they were followed by third, fourth, and fifth thoughts, though it was hardly useful to try and distinguish one from the others. They all said what essentially boiled down to this - _this is an utterly silly idea, Crowley, and you’re a prat for thinking he’d want to hear from you. What would you say? What could you possibly have to talk about?_

In order to distract himself from the logical despair spiral he’d designed for himself, he’d spent the better part of his night pacing around his hotel room, picking up the receiver, promptly putting it down again, and pacing around his room some more. This went on for what felt like a small eternity, but at around the third hour of this pitiful feedback loop it had occurred to Crowley that he could at least tempt himself to the complimentary bottle of liquor in the mini-fridge to take the edge off of things, so tempt himself he did.

Ten fingers into the bottle of rum later found a half-undressed Crowley sprawled across the queen-sized bed, hazily fingering the number for Aziraphale’s bookshop; he was quite certain that he was only getting it correctly on the first try through the sheer virtue of muscle memory.

_Pick up, Aziraphale_, thought Crowley, _or don’t, this is so blessedly stupid of me, but I want to hear you -_

Aziraphale picked up on the third ring. _“Hello? To whom am I speaking to here?”_

There he was. Hearing the familiar nasal drawl of Aziraphale’s voice was enough for him to let out a breath that he’d apparently been holding. “Hi, angel,” he started, not even bothering to hold back the relieved smile that spread across his face. “It’s me. How are you?”

_“Oh!”_ He could hear Aziraphale smile over the line; he could just imagine the way his eyes crinkled, how his cheeks dimpled, and it made his own smile widen just recalling it._ “Doing rather well, I should say. And yourself?”_

“So far this job's been going off without a hitch. When I'm through here it should give us both a bit of a breather for a while - you know, I might have gotten carried away with all the divine inspirations and stuff, but...” He sat up, feeling a lot more alert. “Anyway, I'm just glad to finally hear from you, is all.”

_“I’m pleased to hear that. How have you been enjoying yourself over there?”_

He hummed thoughtfully, going over the past few weeks of utter shit he’d just gone through. “It’s been exciting enough, I suppose. It’s just not the same, though...” A chuckle escaped him, then. “Dreadfully quiet without you around to whine about everything constantly, you know.”

_“How very thoughtful of you,”_ said Aziraphale, tone colder and flatter than a granite slab. It softened to feathery down almost immediately when he said, _“But I digress - I’ve missed you too, Crowley. It’s been delightful to hear from you again.”_

For just how much he slagged off the angel’s prim little accent, the way Aziraphale pronounced certain words never failed to make him all the more endearing. 'I’ve missed you too, Crowley.' He’d sounded so blessedly fond when he said his name. Crow-ley. C-R-O-W-L-E-Y. /ˈkroʊli/. He could listen to Aziraphale saying it forever.

When he spoke again, he felt something catch in his throat. “Right,” he managed to say, though his chest was rising and falling an awful lot. “M - missed you, too, angel.”

Aziraphale laughed through the speaker. He could practically see the angel sat contentedly in his favorite leather armchair in the dingy back room of the bookshop, his feet propped up on the mismatched footstool, with that old clunker of a Bakelite he kept on the little table next to it. There was a definite lilt in his voice when he said, _“Whatever are you up to right now?”_

“Hm? Oh, er…” He sincerely thought about it for a moment. ”Calling you, I s’pose.”

_“You surely know what I meant, my dear boy.”_

“Hey, it’s not like I had anything exciting lined up, it's all more work from here," he sighed. "Tell you what, though - soon as I get back, we'll have lunch, on me. Your pick, of course, anything you like."

There was a brief pause before Aziraphale spoke up again.

_“You really are a darling, going out of your way to ring me up like this,”_ he sighed. _"I honestly appreciate it."_

If his train of thought had been going full speed ahead on the tracks with no obstacles only a few moments earlier, it had now unceremoniously crashed into a brick wall. His whole body felt alight, like hellfire was pumping through his veins - his chest burned with each breath he took that he technically didn't need.

"I'm - it's no bother, angel, really. But, ah," he almost choked on the word, "_darling_, really? I'm not darling, angel, I - I'm a demon."

_"And what would you prefer?"_ There was that playfully snide tone of his - he could practically hear the eye roll that followed. _"Would you rather I call you a foul fiend for the rest of time simply because of your infernal ties? It just seems exceedingly cruel, is all."_ He paused, for a second. _"We are friends, are we not? I would prefer to address you as such, if so."_

Cor _blimey_. If Aziraphale had come down from the heavens with that flaming sword of his and smote him where he stood, rending him to nothing more than a ruddy little soot mark on the hotel carpet, it would have been easier. As it were, he just felt unbearably sweaty, despite the air conditioned room, and he moved to loosen his already loosened collar.

_"...Are you alright, dear?"_

Oh. Guess he'd forgotten to use his words. "Nuh," he said, "m'fine, it's just… it's embarrassing, you know? You know how I feel about - well." He took his sunglasses off, as there was a not-insignificant bout of condensation pooling up beneath the lenses. "I'm never going to get used to it, I don't think."

_"Crowley,"_ Aziraphale said, voice lowering slightly, _"you're my oldest and dearest friend, you know that. I know it's rather difficult for you to hear it, at times, but I..."_ A pause. _"You are a good friend. You have been, for all the millenia I've gotten to know you."_

"Sss-shut up," he groaned, truly and utterly burning with shame. He'd resorted to curling up in the fetal position on his side, white-knuckled fingers clutching at the phone like a lifeline. "You can be downright dasss-tardly, you know that?"

_"I've no idea what you mean."_ Absolute bastard was rubbing it in, he could just picture the smug little smirk on his stupidly handsome face, half-hidden beneath the white beard. _"All I know is that I'm having a nice chat with my beloved friend Crowley, whose company I appreciate most dearly."_

An undignified little squeak most certainly did not escape him. Demons did _not_ squeak, after all, the mere notion was total bollocks. Demons indubitably also did _not_ break out into a cold sweat, and they did not feel a wet heat pooling through their cotton Y-fronts at Aziraphale's playful, condescending tone, one he frequently used in jest - or, when their schedules permitted it, while Crowley was writhing either underneath or above him depending on their mood. Anyone who dared suggest that the opposite was true was simply not worth paying any mind - unfortunately, however, Crowley was simply rubbish at even attempting to think that rigidly.

"Angel," he managed, suddenly aware that he was panting, "wait, I - " He knew that Aziraphale knew of the effect this kind of language could have on him - they hadn't been getting biblical with each other for millenia without at least a basic knowledge of what got the other's motor running, so to speak. "Getting… er, hot and bothered, with all this appreciation talk."

There was a pause on the other end, punctuated with a small hum from Aziraphale. _"Is that going to be a problem for you, my dear? We can change the subject."_

He was so blasted gentle, Crowley might as well have erupted from relief. "Only if it's going to be a problem for you."

He could hear Aziraphale's relieved sigh - it called to mind twinkling grey eyes. _"Then I suppose I better continue."_ There was that smug, gently domineering tone again. _"Appreciating you, I mean."_

"You better not," he said, but there was no teeth in it. The heavy, shameful feeling that had been settling in his chest bloomed into something a bit more palatable. This was at least something familiar, a comfortable little routine - one that suggested lighthearted fun, and didn't veer too close to dangerously devotional, death-till-us-part territory.

Aziraphale didn't even deign to pause, this time._ "I shan't hear it. You're simply too good for me to not praise, darling."_ He chuckled, and Crowley swore that he could hear something like a match go off - was the bastard seriously lighting his pipe? _"That's it, really, isn't it? You're just too nice for your own good, aren't you?"_

He rubbed his legs together in an attempt to relieve his aching core, but he'd only succeeded in chafing further against his sleek, tight briefs. "I'm not," he said, feebly biting back a moan.

_"You _are_. Oh, don't even think about denying it - you sweet, sentimental little dear, you. I'm willing to bet that you're as red as a bushel of apples right now."_

"Depends on what kind," he said, because he was a contrarian at heart, bless it. "Apples can be green. Or golden, yellow. There's not just red apples, 's'all kinds of apples in the world."

_"Smart mouth on you, too,"_ said Aziraphale, matter-of-factly._ "You really are too clever than you ought to be - always got to have an answer to everything, is that right?"_

He clenched his thighs together, attempting to ignore the dull throbbing sensation that was steadily growing between them.

"...No." 

_"Mhm."_ He couldn't help but imagine the angel reclining back into his chair, now, taking periodic puffs from that blasted tobacco pipe, pleased as anything at whatever he was hearing on his end of the conversation. _"Sate my curiosity right now, if you wouldn't mind. What are you wearing, my boy?"_

Ough. Alright. He took in a sharp breath, willing himself to focus through the tipsy, lust-addled fog of his mind. "Lesse… I've got on my dress shirt, it's a bit undone already. Er - I'm in my skivvies." He paused. "Gosh, that sounded terrible, didn't it? Sorry, I, uh. I can start over, if you'd like."

Aziraphale laughed, he honest-to-goodness laughed, and Crowley wanted nothing more than for the sheets beneath him to swallow him up and envelop him in the deepest, darkest oblivion. But Aziraphale had a nice laugh - it was a bubbly sort of giggle, and wholly unsuited to the one-point-eighty-eight metre, vaguely fifty-something old man with bushy white hair that it belonged to. He liked it, though, treasured those moments when he was able to make him laugh.

_"Crowley,"_ Aziraphale managed in-between giggles, _"has anyone ever told you how utterly adorable you are?"_

"_No_," he warned, "and they wouldn't _dare_, if they knew what was good for them."

_"Ah, my dear."_ He'd calmed down now, but there was a mischievous sing-song to his voice. _"I would give anything in the world to see you as you are, all flushed and ready for me. You'd rather like that, wouldn't you - if I were right there with you?"_

His mind blanked, suddenly preoccupied with the fantasy that'd just sprang up from somewhere within the locked, bombproof safe of his subconscious. Clear as day, he could see Aziraphale casually making his way from the door to the bed, shedding his tweed jacket, haphazardly folding it in his arms, and tossing it onto the room's only chair - pushing up the sleeves of his shirt so his forearms were visible, white hairs stark against his dark brown skin.

His imaginary Aziraphale smiled at him, with that adorable little smile that crinkled the corners of his twinkling grey eyes, bringing out the apples of his chubby cheeks.

"Yes," said Crowley, as all of the air in his lungs left him in one fell swoop.

_"I'd take your shirt off, for a start,"_ he continued, as the Aziraphale in Crowley's head looked him up and down, his warm smile only growing fonder. _"It'd be a shame to hide away that lovely torso of yours."_

He began to undo the rest of the buttons on his dress shirt, as slowly as he could manage. Carefully, he shrugged the offending item off, setting it aside. "It's off," he said into the receiver, awaiting further instructions.

_"How I adore your physique, dear."_ In his mind's eye, Aziraphale was propped up beside him, the soft glow of the ceiling light framing his handsome features. _"You're a wiry little thing, so lithe and small."_

"I resent that remark," he said. "I'm only a few centimetres shorter than you, knobhead."

_"No offence meant, but a stiff wind could blow you over."_

"I take great offence to that, actually, whether you meant it or not."

_"Look,"_ said Aziraphale, whom Crowley could only imagine had his brows knit in consternation, looking at him as if he were the most ridiculous being in all of Creation, which he might as well have been. _"I'm trying to compliment you. It's meant to be a compliment, you understand. You may be a skinny whelp, Crowley - "_

"Alright, no need to go _that_ far..."

_" - but that's precisely what I love about you, so if you could not be difficult, please."_

Crowley froze at the word. He _loved_ that about him. _Love_. He couldn't even imagine what Aziraphale must have looked like as he said that, but it had sounded like he was stating a dry fact. In all of their 6000-odd years of, ahem, fraternizing, love simply did not enter the equation. Sure, there was mutual respect for a colleague. There was a fondness for a dear friend. There was appreciation and trust for a sexual partner. Love, though? It wasn't that he didn't want to love Aziraphale, or that he hadn't entertained the thought. But the L-word implied - it implied longevity, for one. And that kind of longevity simply wasn't feasible, not with the whole matter of them technically being on opposite sides of God's great game of Battleship. He could like Aziraphale just fine, be his best mate - but at the end of the day, when there came the time that Armageddon would come knocking, he couldn't be sure that the angel would stick around.

"Sure," he said. His head was spinning, and he was certain that it wasn't because of the alcohol. "Go on."

_"Thank you,"_ said Aziraphale, who was hopefully oblivious to the existential crisis that he'd sent Crowley hurtling towards. _"Now, where was I… ah, yes. You're a tad, er… delicate, you see? Delicate little joints and long, spindly fingers."_ Crowley thought back to nights when Aziraphale would linger over his wrists and hands, pressing gentle kisses to his pulse points and his knuckles; he felt himself gasp at the memory. _"What I mean to say is… you have nice hands."_

He hissed contentedly at the praise. Aziraphale promptly continued:_ "The jut of your collarbone, the expanse of your chest… Oh, I do like to fondle it."_ He could recall feeling Aziraphale's soft, warm hands smoothing over the skin of his chest, those thick fingers rolling over and pinching his nipples. Even better was when he would take one in his mouth - gently nibbling the flesh with white teeth, or making broad, flat strokes with a warm tongue. The mere thought of it sent a shiver down his spine, made his toes curl.

_"Ah, your neck is nice and elegant…"_ He would press his lips there and he would suck and bite at the flesh, as if he were nothing but another delicacy to be sampled. _"But of course, it's attached to that pretty little head. Have you any idea, how dashing you look?"_ His hands would often cup Crowley's cheeks, tilting his head this way and that as he placed urgent kisses everywhere he could reach - his forehead, his nose, his jaw, his lips. He wished that Aziraphale was pressing up against his lips now - presently, he was chewing on them to keep from embarrassing himself further with weird little noises.

His control wasn't perfect, though - he'd let one weird little noise slip, to his immediate horror.

_"And how are you holding up?"_ Aziraphale sounded more amused than concerned - whatever he was hearing, he was evidently enjoying it.

"Uh…" He felt searing hot all over, and he was quite sure that his briefs were soaked through; but he was still, by-and-large, present and accounted for. "M'fine, angel. Having a - it's been a blast."

_"Good."_ There was a pause, before he continued, _"Let's get those briefs off, then, shall we?"_

"Sure, angel." He reached to pull them down, the dampness of the cloth making the briefs cling to his skin before it peeled off. Though Aziraphale was all the way back in London, he couldn't shake the feeling that those grey eyes were somehow watching him with great interest. "Alright, they're off."

_"Good, good. You're truly enjoying yourself, right now?"_

"Wha - well, of course, I am! I'd tell you if I weren't enjoying myself, so don't you worry - "

_"I want to hear about it from _you_,"_ he said, his voice at once gentle and insistent. _"As you touch yourself, tell me about how you feel."_

"Er." What could he say? What could he possibly have to talk about? "I don't… I don't know what I'd _say_, I mean, I, I'm not that good at talking, you know I - "

_"Hush, you silly old serpent."_ That got Crowley's attention. _"You're talking right this instant, aren't you?"_

"Well, yes, but - "

_"But, nothing."_ He could hear another smile through the receiver. _"I'll be happy just to hear from you, my dear. Alright?"_

"...Alright." He reached down to his cunt, pressing a finger to the exposed nub of his clit. "I'll, er, try my best."

He began by slicking up two fingers with his entrance, involuntarily shuddering as cool fingertips pressed up against his heat. "I mean, it's nice," he said, feeling like a total git, "really nice."

_"Go on."_ Aziraphale sounded - he sounded interested, there was no mistaking it for boredom. It was almost reverent, even. It made him feel… well… it made him feel _wanted_.

"I… I want you, Aziraphale," he admitted, as his finger moved to rub against his clit - slow strokes at first, gradually working his way faster as it stiffened against his touch. "I want to sss-see you, we've gone sss-so much longer without seeing each other but I miss-sss you, angel - "

_"Oh, Crowley… I've missed you terribly these past few weeks, as well."_ He seemed remorseful, and Crowley wanted nothing more than to hold him and be held by him. _"But we'll - we'll see each other again soon."_

"I know," he hissed. He started slowing down a bit to scissor his clit between two fingers, stimulating the sides of sensitive bud instead of directly. "I know, but - I want to see you _now_."

_"And I you, my… darling, my..."_ Aziraphale's voice sounded strangely clipped, now - he could hear him huffing short breaths through the receiver. Was he touching himself, too, while he was listening to Crowley? _"Ah…"_

He let himself breathe into the phone, soft moans building up as his mouth hung open. He went back to rubbing directly on his clit, now, focusing on the most sensitive spot on the underside with short, intense strokes. "A - Aziraphale?"

There were a few more of those short gasps before Aziraphale said,_ "Yes, Crowley?"_

"I lo - " Before he could finish his thought, he felt himself clench as he came, squirting onto his fingers and onto the sheets. Whatever he was going to say was promptly replaced with mostly utter gibberish and whimpering - the overwhelming sensation of orgasm wouldn't allow for otherwise.

He stilled, then, and took some deep breaths to calm himself. Evidently, Aziraphale seemed to be coming down from his own high, as the breathing from the other end got slower.

_"How are you, Crowley?"_ Aziraphale's voice sounded very breathy, like he wasn't accustomed to using the voice box he'd been given quite yet, yet the fondness in his tone was still there. It was nothing short of lovely, and he sounded so utterly human.

Crowley let out a contented sigh, and smiled. "Doing just fine, Aziraphale."

A comfortable silence passed with Crowley keeping the receiver pressed to his ear, listening to the steady rise and fall of Aziraphale's breathing. After a few moments, Aziraphale spoke up. _"You were going to tell me something?"_

"Nn," said Crowley, "nothing important."

Aziraphale was silent for a while, before he said, _"Alright,"_ so quietly, he almost didn't hear it. Then, at his normal volume, he said, _"You know, it's quite funny."_

"What is?"

_"All this. Technology, I mean."_ Aziraphale hummed, in the way that he did when he was thinking. _"It's remarkable, isn't it? I mean, fancy thinking that in just… in just a few millennia, humans would be conversing over these - these soundwaves, through these metallic wires and, and electricity!"_

It was Crowley's turn to laugh. He thought it sounded more like a wild cackle, to be honest - with his mouth wide open and the loud, singular 'ha's. Aziraphale never seemed to mind it, though.

_"Oh, really, my dear."_ Well, except for now, anyway.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "I mean… yeah. It is remarkable, isn't it? Humans are always… they're finding new ways to stay together, even when they're physically apart, yeah. Nothing short of a miracle."

_"Oh, no, that's the good bit, you see."_ There was that tone, the one where he had that twinkle in his eye. _"It wasn't a miracle. They thought it up themselves."_

Crowley thought back to where it all began. "Funny, that. Every time we've kept in touch like this, since the Arrangement… 'S'all been thanks to humans, y'know. Hand delivering our letters, putting through our calls, that sort of thing."

_"One supposes we ought to thank them,"_ said Aziraphale, _"for keeping us together in times such as these."_

"...Yeah," he said, feeling another lump in his throat coming on. Demons did not cry, though, they didn't - and if they did, they certainly didn't think fond thoughts of a certain angel, and how much that certain angel really meant to them. What a preposterous idea. "We really ought to thank them."

**Author's Note:**

> I like writing weirdly emotional porn. I also like writing weirdly lengthy dialogue. It was about time the two genres intersected in my work, I think.
> 
> As always, I'm on tumblr @ moeyandchandon if you wanna, like, yell at me. You can yell at me in the comments, too. I won't judge you.


End file.
